A single red poppy
by I'mEnglish'CourseIDrinkTea
Summary: Lestrade and Sherlock bond after Lestrade finds out about Sherlock's husband in Afghanistan. Johnlock John/Sherlock and probably Mystrade Mycroft/Lestrade in later chapters.
1. The unanticipated accessory

**So I am kinda obsessed with the Sherlock and John know each other whilst John's still an active soldier fic's. I always love reaction based stories, so I thought i'd have a crack at it.**

**I originally toyed with this idea around remembrance day, hence the mention of the poppy, all of my respect goes to soldiers past, present and future. **

**This is John/Sherlock and will probably have elements of Mycroft/Lestrade in later chapters if you don't like that, well honestly i don't really care, it is what it is.**

**I write erratically so i'll just apologize for not updating now. As always i am English and as such it should be understood i have no idea how to spell, punctuate or use grammar within the English language. Feel free to tell me where i've gone wrong when i inevitably do.**

**Disclaimer****- I own one thing and that's the bottle of Lucozade i drank whilst writing this, and i'm afraid that's almost all gone now :(**

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><p>Lestrade glanced up as his consulting detective swept onto the scene. Frowning slightly, Lestrade took a closer look after he glimpsed a flash of red against the man's normal black attire. "Sherlock, are you wearing a poppy?" he asked curiously. Several months working with the man and this was the first remotely personal thing he has seen breach the detective's distant character.<p>

Breaking out of his assessment of the scene, the consultant glanced down at the plastic flower. "Yes, what of it?"

"Nothing, I just didn't peg you as the sort to-"

"Oh, come off it," his newest forensics officer sneered. "Of course he isn't the type. I bet his mummy told him he has to wear it, so she looks good in front of the neighbours."

Remaining unusually calm in the face of such insults, too calm Lestrade thought, Sherlock turned to the man. "Not that it is any concern of yours Anderson, but my mother has no control over how I choose to dress. I wear a poppy for the same reason as anyone else; in respect of those who have, and will fight in wars past, present and future, and to support them and their families as they do so."

"Like you care about the men that are getting killed right now, the only bodies that concern you are the 'interesting' ones that turn up murdered in our streets. What respect do you have for some blokes getting themselves blown up in some far off forgotten country?" The man sneered.

Sherlock sucked in a quick breath as his face flashed with a brief expression of pain, and something that looked a lot like fear. Before Lestrade could compute this unprecedented display of emotion, his consultant had already collected himself, turned on his heel and left the scene.

After severely reprimanding Anderson on his behaviour Lestrade mimicked his consultants exit. Feeling guilty for abandoning his duties at the scene, Lestrade headed for Baker Street, trusting his officers to wrap up in his place. Anderson's words had been crushing after all, and judging by Sherlock's abrupt departure they had had some effect on the man.

Climbing the stairs to 221b, Lestrade walked through the door to be confronted by the morose picture that Sherlock Holmes was currently presenting. The man was led on his sofa curled around, and crying into, what appeared to be a beige knitted jumper. Cursing Anderson in his head, Lestrade was suddenly fiercely happy about the glares he had seen directed the other man's way before he had left the scene. Sherlock may not be well liked by the officers of the yard, but some of them had served and most at least knew someone who had, Anderson's attempts to demean Sherlock through the poppy will no doubt have lasting consequences for the man.

Walking into the room, Lestrade came to kneel in front of the couch besides the detectives head. "Sherlock?" he questioned softly, "Something you want to tell me?" he asked, gesturing to the jumper the man was currently clinging too.

Lestrade watched as the detective registered his presence and shot up, wiping away his tears with one hand, keeping the other firmly latched on the jumper in his lap. Moving to sit beside the man, Lestrade inwardly sighed, unconsciously raising his hands to placate the man.

"Sherlock whatever this is, it's okay. I won't hold it against you and I won't tell anyone if you don't want me too. Anderson has been firmly reprimanded; I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Obviously you are not; you don't have to tell me anything but I would like it if you did." Lestrade spoke calmly, in his own gentle but gruff manner.

Remaining still under the detectives gaze, Lestrade waited patiently as Sherlock weighed up the truth of his statement. Eventually, Sherlock sighed and nodded reaching into his shirt to remove the chain he wore there. A chain that the di now realised carried a set of dog tags and a wedding ring.

Looking at his consult in curiosity, he watched as Sherlock reverently ran a finger over the tags before removing them and passing them to the di. Taking the tags, that were worn enough to signify years of daily use, Lestrade read the name upon them. "Lieutenant John Watson," he read curiously.

Gaining eye contact, the inspector questioned the man "who is he?"

At this Sherlock grinned, causing the inspector to blink in surprise. "Captain John Watson-Holmes is my husband. He is currently on his third tour of Afghanistan, attached to the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers as a combat surgeon of the ramc."

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><p><strong>Quick question should ramc be capitalized or?<strong>


	2. An unexpected phone call

**So i really shouldn't be uploading another chapter so fast, this can only end in a stressed writer and disappointed readers but i got so many reviews and so many follows for such a short bit of writing that i couldn't resist. Thankyou so much guys. **

**Oh and thank's to those of you much more knowledgeable than I it'll be RAMC from here on out. Thankyou for answering, i knew it should have been capitalized :)**

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><p><em>Gaining eye contact, the inspector questioned the man "who is he?"<em>

_At this Sherlock grinned, causing the inspector to blink in surprise. "Captain John Watson-Holmes is my husband. He is currently on his third tour of Afghanistan, attached to the 5__th__ Northumberland Fusiliers as a combat surgeon of the RAMC."_

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><p>Lestrade stared agape at the man "Husband? You're married?" He blurted.<p>

Seemingly amused at his reaction, Sherlock smirked as he spoke dryly "Technically I'm in a civil partnership."

"Right," Lestrade said blankly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sherlock looked down at his lap, in what Lestrade guessed to be embarrassment. "I enjoy the work, before I met John it was everything. Now when I take a case without him, it's surprisingly empty. Whenever I think of him when I am working, I am just reminded of the fact that he is not here, and that is not conductive to brain work."

"He really means a lot, huh." Lestrade stated in awe at this new side of his consultant.

"Of course, I did marry him after all." Sherlock spoke without missing a beat.

Blinking rapidly still trying to get used to that revelation Lestrade lent back into the sofa. "So," he said "You going to tell me about him or what? What's he like?"

Glancing up at the di uncertainly, Sherlock tentatively let a soft smile overtake his features before leaning back like Lestrade. "He's one of the most boring and mundane people I have ever met, and yet he's the most extra-ordinary person I know. He never acts as I think he will; unless I need him to be dependable then I'll know exactly where he is." Scowling slightly he continued. "He has in the past recklessly risked his life for mine, and countless others, although I constantly tell him not too. In return he feels the need to spend an inordinate amount of time lecturing me on my eating and sleeping habits."

Lestrade chuckled at that "More the power to him, god knows you could do with a proper meal once in a while." Watching his consultant, he couldn't help but smile in response to the soft smile still adorning the other man's face. The di hoped he would continue, liking this side of the normally aloof man.

"He-" Sherlock broke off as his mobile began to ring. Rolling his eyes he reached for the phone obviously believing it to be unimportant. However upon seeing the caller id he hurriedly accepted the call, nearly hitting his face in his eagerness to get the phone to his ear.

"John" He immediately stated, listening to the voice at the other end of the phone. Lestrade smiled at the relief and happiness in his consultant's voice, he moved to leaver himself from the sofa figuring he should give the man some privacy.

Seeing his actions Sherlock halted him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "John hold on a second." He said into the phone, before he moved it in front of his pressing a button on its screen. "John you're on speakerphone, there's someone here you should meet. Detective Inspector Lestrade, Captain John Watson-Holmes, John, Lestrade." He introduced them.

Turning to his consultant in surprise Lestrade nearly missed it as a fuzzy voice came through the phone. "Detective inspector Lestrade," it greeted calmly. "I've wanted to meet you ever since Sherlock declared you acceptable in one of his letters to me. Given the fact Sherlock's introducing us; I can only imagine you know how surprised that made me."

Chuckling Lestrade turned to the phone. "I must admit I never even knew you existed until about thirty minutes ago. The smile on Sherlock's face has got me curious though." He admitted "Oh, and thank you Captain."

"You can call me John," the voice assured quickly. "Um, what are you thanking me for Detective inspector?"

"Greg," Lestrade corrected and in lieu of an answer he turned to Sherlock. "Acceptable," he said gleefully. "Where are your bumbling idiot comments now, huh?" he said with a laugh, vaguely noticing as a giggle joined his over the phone.

"John!" The detective chided as his face formed a pout. "Why would you tell him that? His ego is going to be insurmountable."

At this John only began to laugh harder "his ego? Pot meet kettle Sherlock. That seems very unlikely to me anyway, seeing as he manages to tolerate you on a day to day basis, love." The man chuckled again "don't forget I was there when you tried to work with Professor Clevton."

Quirking his lips at some remembered event, Sherlock inclined his head unconsciously. "Ok, fine Lestrade's ego is at an acceptable size," he admitted. "That's why we are not allowed to inflate it any further John!"

"Oh, of course my mistake," John said sarcastically.

"John, why are you calling?" Sherlock asked worriedly after the laughter had died down. "Your next call slot is not scheduled until next week. Has something happened?" he asked obviously concerned.

"Nothing," John was quick to reassure. "I was just relaxing on base when some suits walked up with a phone, and told me that Mr Holmes insists I make a call. I'm going to go out on a limb and say Mycroft is involved somehow. Speaking of, are you alright? I assume something must have happened for him to do this."

Glancing up at Lestrade Sherlock cocked his head consideringly, before unconsciously nodding. "There was a blithering idiot who said some things. Lestrade helped, I'm fine." Sherlock replied, missing Lestrade's look of surprise even as it morphed into a pleased expression.

"If you're sure, the men are coming back, I think someone has decided this conversation is over. I'll call next week as planned, ok? It was a pleasure to meet-" The man paused "Er, speak to you Inspector Lestrade."

"Same, Captain Watson," Lestrade responded.

"Goodbye for now then, I love you Sherlock." The man spoke softly.

"And I you John," Sherlock replied solemnly.

"You posh git," John muttered affectionately before hanging up.

"So that was John," Lestrade broke the silence that followed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the di, "obviously."


	3. Details Sherlock! Details!

****I don't know how to thank you guys my email has literally exploded with the amount of reviews and favorites i have gotten since i posted my first fic on here two weeks ago. Thank you all so much, i'm glad you seem to be enjoying what i write.****

**I confess to being a little unsure of this chapter. I tried to make sure Sherlock wasn't too mushy and that the repetitive story telling feature wasn't too boring but i'm not sure i succeeded. However i needed a way to explain John and Sherlock's history and this is what came of it. **

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><p>"<em>So that was John," Lestrade broke the silence that followed.<em>

_Sherlock rolled his eyes at the di, "Obviously."_

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><p>Lestrade didn't move looking at Sherlock hoping for more information.<p>

"What?" The man asked irritably.

"Oh come on Sherlock! You haven't told me hardly anything about the man. How you met, how long you've been married. Come on I'm a detective you can't leave it like this, you know the pain!" Lestrade pleaded humorously, intrigued to see how this Sherlock would react.

Rolling his eyes at the di, Sherlock responded "fine, but you have to make me a cup of tea first."

"You're fortunate you have me so intrigued Sherlock!" He growled as he moved to the kitchen to get the man's bloody tea.

Settled back into his normal armchair, tea in hand, Lestrade waited for Sherlock to get himself situated on the couch. Once he had, Lestrade threw the man a questioning look with perhaps the smallest fraction of pleading thrown in.

Sighing Sherlock observed the man over his tea cup. "We'll start with the last of your questions and work our way back I think. John and I have been married for almost four years, we were married at the end of John's first sixth month tour. We met about six years before that, when John was in his last year of pre-med at UCL and I had just started for my chemistry bachelors."

Sherlock sipped his tea leaning back into the couch. "I had discovered that one of the professors had been stealing various substances from the chemistry cupboards to supply his meth lab. When I went to confront him he threw acid at me. Not too high a concentration considering, but enough so that I noticed. Inside of ten seconds John had subdued the professor and began treating my chemical burns. The rest of the class didn't even have time to gasp, and there he was quietly looking me over the professor tied to a chair behind him."

"He introduced himself, thanked me for finding out who the thief was, for it had been 'bothering him for weeks', and told me that I should probably go to A&E for a quick check-up. Naturally I refused, so he nodded looked me over and said 'well come on then' and took me to his place. He barely even paused to inform the officers that we'd come down to give our statements tomorrow, since I was so 'obviously in need of medical assistance'. The constable was not happy." He recalled chuckling.

Lestrade winced on the constable's behalf, engrossed in the story as the detective seemed to come alive remembering it.

"When we got to his, which was a truly horrid little place below the standards of even the worst student dorms, he cleaned me up silently only asking me the necessary medical questions. When he was finished he gave me a cup of tea and asked me how I knew. I explained my deductions to him and he groaned, in what I later discovered was a playful manner and said that I had 'the kind of intelligence that made smart people despair at their own'. I'd never been teased before, at least not in a friendly way, so naturally I responded the only way I knew how." He trailed off.

"You deduced him," Lestrade stated wincing.

Sherlock nodded in agreement "and then he did something that was completely unprecedented."

"What?" Lestrade asked, with an inkling as to where this was going.

"He told me that I was extraordinary, 'quite extraordinary in fact'," Sherlock quoted a bright blush staining his cheeks. "I had just confronted him with some horrible things and that was all he said. Naturally I was confused, he asked me why and I told him that's not what people normally say. When he asked what they normally say and I replied piss off, he just looked up at me. His face broke into a smile and he started laughing, and what's more I was laughing as well Lestrade. An event that was almost as unprecedented as the first." Lestrade full out grinned at the detective now, the awe and confusion in his voice clearly audible, even if this piece of news made the inspector sad.

"After that he kept coming back, he even helped me on cases with the medical knowledge he was gaining, he became my backup when it was needed. I was happy working with him, but I still didn't understand why he was so nice to me. Until one day I fell ill and Mycroft tried to take me away to some private hospital to get treated. John vehemently disagreed, assuring my brother that he could take care of me as per my wishes. Mycroft asked him why he would even want to and he replied 'because he's my friend you great git, haven't your surveillance teams told you that much? I think they're slipping." Sherlock quoted.

"I thought I had hallucinated it at first, no one had ever wanted to be my friend before," he admitted. "It only got better though, Mycroft offered him money to spy on me, something he had apparently attempted before, and John refused. Mycroft was stood there parroting all of his money troubles at him, and he refused. As soon as I was better I naturally called him an idiot and told him we could have split the fee. Then I told him that we were going to look for a flat together, once he had left the student dorms, when he transferred to Barts to complete his training."

"You told him? Of course it didn't occur to you to ask nicely." Lestrade groaned in exasperation.

With a grin Sherlock shook his head. "He told me that if I could find us a place to live, that we actually had a hope in hell of affording, he'd happily move in with me. My homeless network, which was active even then, spread the word for me hoping to find us suitable accommodation. Word reached the previous renters of this flat. They got into contact with me and informed us that they intended to move. They hadn't been able to yet because the landlords were in a spot of trouble in Florida, the husband had been arrested and placed on death row for murder. We reached out to the landlady and she was happy to fly us out to take a look at her husband's case. When we got there we found out that she was hoping we could prove her husband's guilt during his appeal not his innocence. Nine years later and Mrs Hudson is enjoying her life as a widow."

Lestrade blinked in surprise at that revelation. Although now that he thought about it the story behind that incident, whatever it may be, probably explained some of the landlady's odd behaviour, not to mention her willingness to put up with Sherlock as a tenant.

"We barely paid a quarter of the normal rent for this place and Mrs Hudson kept us here anyway," Sherlock said fondly. "Eventually, I started to supplement our income with fees from private cases. A couple of months later, I was still training for my bachelors despite how boring it was, John was becoming a doctor and we began dating. After that-" he began to move on.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Lestrade cut in, holding up his hands to stop the detective. "Details Sherlock, who asked out who or who kissed who? What happened?" Lestrade frowned as a thought occurred to him, "unless it's highly sexual in which case you're right skip ahead please."

Sherlock rolled his eyes looking to the ceiling as he thought back, "I kissed him if you must know. We had just cracked the Coventry cleaver case and I was excited, may have let myself get carried away a bit."

"What did he say to that?" Lestrade questioned before, "Wait you cracked that case?"

"John and I did yes," Sherlock waved away the question irritably. "John didn't say anything he just smiled and asked if we could go back to the hotel because he was 'bloody freezing'. Once my brain caught up with my body I felt like a complete idiot. I had only ever seen him with women and he was my best and only friend. I shut myself down for a couple of months after that, lost myself in my own brain as John likes to say. He looked after me until the day I remember taking a conscious interest in my surrounding again. I was sat in the kitchen and he walked through, said 'Oh good you're back' kissed me, handed me a cup of tea and wandered out again."

"From then on we had a lot of fun, sex and cases, and then he had to go on training for the army. We were separated for the first time in over four years. In the time he was away, I realised that the work was not as fulfilling as it once was, that it didn't feel right without John at my side. So during a break in his training I asked him to marry me. He agreed, and between them my mother and Mycroft spent so much time planning, it took us a year to finally sign the stupid piece of paper. We were finally married on a date somewhere between his first tour and his second," his lips quirked into a smile at the memory.

Stupid piece of paper my ass, Lestrade inwardly chuckled, he was the one to propose after all. Tentatively Lestrade asked a question that had been weighing on his mind since he learned of John. "Sherlock, if you were so happy and he was a qualified doctor, why did he join the army?"

At this Sherlock frowned unhappily. "He'd already joined long before I met him. All he ever wanted to do was become a doctor and the army agreed to pay his way to it. He signed up when he was eighteen and fresh out of sixth form. The army trained him and in return they get six years of his life, at the end of which he can retire if he wishes," he trailed of morosely.

Taking in his new expression Lestrade frowned, "You don't think he's going to retire."

Sherlock sighed and sunk back into the couch. "He loves it, truly loves it, like me and the work. He was born to be a doctor and he is exactly the person I'd want to have backing me up in a dangerous situation. I don't want to stop him from doing what he loves but-" he broke of and bit his lip.

"It's hard," Lestrade supplied helpfully.

"It wouldn't be so much of an issue if he spent his time working as a base surgeon. Naturally he works as a field surgeon instead, and I live with the knowledge that any day he could be-" Sherlock broke off again, his voice becoming suspiciously raspy.

"He works in the field?" Lestrade asked surprised, "I thought fully fledged doctors pretty much always stayed on base."

Sherlock snorted. "A few, very few, choose to work in the field with a squad, in order to offer as much help as they can with both combat injuries and the health of the locals. There are so very few of them that he gets sent out on special assignment on a fairly regular basis. He says that his patients are ten times more likely to survive just because he knows how to apply a bandage correctly. That doesn't make the news stories any easier to watch though."

"No I imagine not," Lestrade said softly. "How long has he got left?"

"He's halfway through a tour right now, then he's scheduled to have three weeks of leave, followed by a final sixth month tour. After that he can leave if he wishes," Sherlock replied slightly wistfully.

"We'll see Sherlock, we don't know what'll happen and I obviously don't know John well enough to make a judgment. For now I think you and I need a good meal and a couple of hour's sleep, before we tackle that case tomorrow." Lestrade carefully ended the conversation.

Despite what some of his co-workers said, Lestrade had always known Sherlock had feelings and was subject to sentiment like the rest of the world. He had never anticipated the day where he would see either so blatantly displayed though. Now that that day had come, it occurred to Lestrade that Sherlock had trusted him with a lot here today. Smiling, Lestrade fully relaxed into the sofa as he registered the warm feeling that thought gave him; before he called for some takeaway to share with the man who he was hoping was beginning to consider him a friend.

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><p><strong>I readily admit that i have no idea how long it takes to study for a medical license, or how you go about studying for them, i just needed a way for Sherlock and John to meet so i went with the pre-med course idea. I also know next to nothing about the army so any mistakes with the details for either of these professions are all due to the fact i have just literally made it all up off of the top of my head. <strong>


	4. The travesties of modern art

**So after the last chapter i wanted to get back into more solid ground and bring back the snarky Sherlock we all know and love ... yeah **

**Apparently i've just given up on that so mushy Sherlock it is.**

**Lastly i'm afraid my laptop is on its last legs, its actually a miracle every time i manage to boot it up. So from here updates may be a bit slow until i can buy a new one and as i'm broke that probably won't be for a while. I want to individually reply to each of your reviews but i can't trust my laptop to keep running that long, so for now thankyou all so much and for those of you that have been asking/wondering i'm planning to bring John back soon :)**

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><p>Frowning at the paperwork before him Lestrade yawned, tempted to go home but knowing he'd only suffer tomorrow if he did. Considering the pros and cons of getting another cup of coffee this late at night, he didn't notice the figure standing at his office door.<p>

Eventually the sound of awkward shuffling drew his attention to the man that stood there. "Sherlock?" he asked frowning in concern, having never seen the man so unsure of himself "is everything alright?"

"Yes I-" Sherlock awkwardly began, making an aborted attempt to enter the room. "I-" he stuttered, before his mouth clamped shut and he span on his heel, obviously intending to exit the room.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade quickly called out, stalling the man's retreat. "Come here," when Sherlock made no move to obey Lestrade sighed. "Please," he added running a hand through his hair. Sherlock lurched on his heels for a second as if changing his mind, before turning to face Lestrade and crossing the distance to the man's desk.

Raising an eyebrow, Lestrade waved his hand at the seats in front of him. Eying both him and the seats dubiously, Sherlock eventually allowed himself to sink into one.

"Okay, good, now can you please tell me what's wrong?" Lestrade asked softly.

Opening his mouth, Sherlock gaped like a fish for a second before he slumped back into the chair behind him. "John and I were married on the 20th of February" he confessed softly.

"The 20th of February," Lestrade repeated equally as softly, pausing to work out the date in his head. "Today?" he questioned.

"Four years ago today," Sherlock confirmed, "happy anniversary to me," he said bitterly.

"Right," Lestrade said, jumping up to put on his coat. "Come on," he said moving to the door.

Sherlock stood to follow automatically "where are we going?" he asked.

"Haven't the foggiest mate, but we'll find some food and talk about John ok?" Lestrade asked, already knowing the consultant would back track, despite the fact that talking was exactly what he wanted.

Sherlock froze "but I don't-"

Lestrade rolled his eyes cutting the man off, "Sherlock, you've come here on your anniversary, clearly uncomfortable about something. I may not be up to your standards but give me some credit; I'm a DI for Christ's sake. Now seeing as I'm bloody starving, we're going to fulfil both my desire to get out of here, and your desire to talk all at once. Let's go," he said ushering the man out, not giving him a chance to talk his way out of it.

Twenty minutes later Lestrade had a bag of chips cradled in his arms, trying to protect them as Sherlock periodically reached over to knick some. Lestrade looked the detective over carefully as he did so; it had been over a month since their last conversation about John. Lestrade had had trouble to reconcile the man he had met then with the aloof man he had known before, and seen since.

Sensing it would be best to wait for his consultant to broach the subject again, Lestrade hung back letting the other man lead him as they wondered around London.

"We haven't actually had a chance to celebrate an anniversary together yet, at least not on the actual date of our ceremony. Mycroft has offered to pull strings for us in the past but-" Sherlock murmured randomly, seemingly not wanting or expecting a response.

Turning off the path Sherlock headed into a small park, making a beeline for the deserted playground within it. Trailing behind the man, Lestrade took a seat on one of the swings, watching as Sherlock took the other and tilted his head back to look at the stars above them; the few stars visible over London at any rate. "Is it too much to want to see your husband on your anniversary Lestrade?" The man asked quietly.

Not sure what to say Lestrade opted to stay quiet. Eventually, Sherlock looked away from the sky and turned to Lestrade with a small smile on his face. "This park," he motioned to their surroundings, "most specifically these swings are where John and I ended up at the end of our first date."

Lestrade's brow furrowed as he cocked his head to the side, "how come?"

Sherlock closed his eyes the small smile becoming wider as he remembered. "John had taken me to see an exhibit on 'crime and punishment through time'. Whilst we were there we saw several leaflets promoting a modern arts exhibit, specifically a piece that featured a swing."

Sherlock planted his feet and pushed, so his swing was moving a little, his smile becoming deeper as he chuckled softly. "John hated it. He spent ages lamenting about how much more use the swing could have been for some kid to play on, rather than something for idiots with too much time on their hands to gawp at."

"I couldn't get him to shut up about them, at least not until I told him that I couldn't actually remember ever being on one. I barely had time to register the look of disbelief on his face, before he had pulled me out of the exhibit; frog marched me to this park and bullied me onto this swing." Sherlock shook his head in an oddly fond manner at odds with his usual façade.

"It was the middle of winter at the time, this place was deserted. We ended up spending hours here. John teaching me the 'optimal technique for swinging'" Sherlock said shaking his head in that weirdly fond manner again. "I also recall spending an inordinate amount of time taking turns on the slide. It was ridiculous." He said clearly bemused by the events even now.

"It sounds like a laugh," Lestrade offered grinning at the man.

"It's one of my happiest memories," Sherlock agreed, "and later this park became the backdrop to the memory that has become my favourite."

Lestrade leaned back to look at the detective in surprise, what could possibly make the detective happier than what he had just described?

Seeing the DI's expression, Sherlock grinned smugly. "The other memory is my favourite, Lestrade, because this is where I asked John to marry me."

Lestrade sucked in a shocked breath and turned his head to take in his surroundings again. Listening to Sherlock's story he had already been surprised at the significance of the place Sherlock had chosen to bring him, but the place the man had proposed on top of that, Lestrade was beginning to feel quite touched by the man's trust in him. Lestrade shook his head in disbelief before he let out a low whistle. "You managed to find a place that was significant, not an overpriced restaurant that means nothing to either of you. For a man who routinely scoffs at sentiment that was remarkably well planned Sherlock."

At this Sherlock blushed and refused to meet the inspectors gaze. "Ah, yes, not so much actually. Mycroft recommended the five star restaurant route, but when we actually got around to sitting in one I was too nervous to actually propose. We decided to walk home after dinner though, and somehow we ended up here, then it just sort of happened."

Laughing outright at this confession, Lestrade grinned. "Yeah, ok, that sounds more like it."

Sherlock offered a small smile in return before he halted his swing. Looking out at the park fondly, he reached up a hand to wrap securely around the chain, before beginning to swing in earnest. Watching as the detective began to gain more height; Lestrade shrugged and lobbed the rest of his chips into the nearby bin. Mimicking the other man's actions Lestrade gripped his swings chain before joining Sherlock in the air.


	5. Understanding spouses

**So i was right, i havent been able to get my laptop to work since the last time i updated. I had to do this in the library, so im afraid i have no idea when this will be updated regularily again.**

**Thankyou so much for all of your kind reviews, faviroutes and follows - this story almost has 100 followers now which is mind blowing to me.**

**I'm sorry if there are a lot of mistakes in this chapter, but the library computers have time limits so i wasn't really able to look it over as much as i usually would have. Feel free to point out any mistakes and i'll try to correct them when i finally replace my laptop.**

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><p>Lestrade watched as Sherlock glanced up at the clock for the tenth time in the last five minutes. Since the other mans anniversary and their time spent together in the park, Lestrade had made it a point to get to know his consultant a little better. They may not be the best of friends but Sherlock no longer expected Lestrade to have a case whenever he turned up on his doorstep. On one occasion the consultant had actually pre-cleared a space for the food Lestrade never failed to bring with him. Communication between them was still stilted, but they had managed to get to the stage where their shared silences were companionable, rather than awkward as they had previously been.<p>

This was part of what led to Lestrade being so worried at the odd behaviour Sherlock had been exhibiting all afternoon. Dimmock had passed over a case that he thought was related to one of Lestrade's pre-existing ones. Looking them over Lestrade had had no choice but to agree, confirming Sherlock's original assessment of the crime.

When Lestrade had gone to get Sherlock, the man had been jubilant; both at having his deductions confirmed and at the challenge the murders now presented. However, as the day had progressed Sherlock had become more and more agitated. For the past hour, as they sat looking for links in old case files together, Sherlock had begun fidgeting in his seat and glancing up at the clock at increasing intervals.

Lestrade was about to ask what was wrong when he was interrupted by the man in question jumping to his feet.

"I need to go!" Sherlock declared to the room, putting on his coat as he turned to leave.

Frowning up at the man Lestrade questioned him suspiciously, "Go where?"

Sherlock turned back to the DI, and for a moment Lestrade thought Sherlock was going to answer him truthfully. Then he saw how the Detectives eyes flickered over the other officers in the room. "That is none of your concern," the consultant sneered instead.

"Sherlock! If you are about to do something stupid it is my concern. Do you think I'm going to let you go after that guy alone?" Lestrade shouted angrily, his concern for the other man mounting.

"Oh for- I'm not going after him Lestrade." Seeing the disbelieving look this garnered him Sherlock groaned. "Fine! Come with me if you must, but I have to go. Now!" he snapped as he swept from the room.

Blinking in surprise, Lestrade grabbed his coat before following his consultant out of the Yard and into the back of a cab.

"Okay," Lestrade said cutting himself off, as Sherlock gave the cabbie a destination quietly enough that the DI didn't hear where they were going. "So if you're not going after the murderer what are you doing? Because mate you've been acting like a cat on a hot tin roof all day." He stated, pointedly watching as Sherlock shuffled around in his seat, seemingly unable to keep still.

Sherlock sighed, "Work it out Lestrade, there are only two things capable of producing this type of reaction from me."

"The work," Lestrade stated slowly, as if expecting a trap.

"Yes and," Sherlock cut in impatiently.

"John Watson." Sherlock turned to the DI clapping his hands sarcastically. Taking this and Sherlock's nervous energy in, Lestrade sat back in his seat, if his years as a cop had taught him anything it was when to push and when to sit back and wait.

Watching the scenery change outside the cab's window, Lestrade frowned as they got closer to the airport.

Lestrade's suspicions were confirmed when the cab pulled up outside of Heathrow. Putting Sherlock's behaviour together he turned to ask the man if they were here to pick up John, only to swear when he realised Sherlock had already left leaving the DI to settle the fair.

Allowing some of his more imaginative curses to flood his mind, Lestrade ran into the airport a couple of minutes after Sherlock and began looking for the man. Unable to locate him near the entrance, Lestrade took an educated guess and headed to arrivals, hoping to find his consultant there.

Finally spying the man, twisting and turning amongst the crowd, Lestrade made his way to him. "Sherlock? Sherlock?" He half shouted, trying to gain the man's attention.

Sherlock only reached out a hand to try and bat the Inspector away as he continued to search the crowd. "We missed it Lestrade, his plane landed over fifteen minutes ago, but where would he go? Why wouldn't he just wait for me?" Sherlock began muttering to himself.

"In my defence," a voice interrupted from behind them. "I thought you were going to be much later than fifteen minutes. As for where I went, we've known each other for at least nine years, can't you figure it out O'master of deduction," the voice teased.

Both Lestrade and Sherlock had frozen as the voice began speaking, allowing Lestrade to see the exact moment his Consultant moved again. The man whirled around to face the short blonde behind them. Covering the distance between them quickly Sherlock enveloped the other man in his arms. "John," he said softly, voice filled with relief.

Even after the talks they had shared, Lestrade looked away uncomfortable as Sherlock pulled back to look the other man in the eye. Seeing Sherlock display emotion was one thing, but Sherlock being intimate was surprisingly, intimate. Eventually the soldier broke the contact as he stretched up to give the detective a small kiss. "Hello Sherlock," He greeted softly, face lighting up with an earnest grin.

Sherlock returned the expression with the most open smile Lestrade had ever seen grace the man's face. Bending down the detective picked up the other man's duffle bag, rolling his eyes when he saw the Styrofoam cup firmly grasped in the soldier's hand. "Of course," he scoffed, swinging the bag onto his shoulder as he stood. "Where else would John Watson go when he finally returned home but the nearest tea shop?"

The blonde merely grinned up at the man, before turning to Lestrade, who had been hovering uncertainly behind Sherlock's shoulder. "We finally get to meet face to face Detective Inspector" he said with an easy smile, offering his hand to the DI. "Captain John Watson-Holmes, husband of that idiot," he said jerking his thumb in Sherlock's direction.

Responding to the man's easy demeanour and free smiles, Lestrade grinned in return, happily shaking the man's hand. "Captain Watson," he greeted, "You can still call me Greg."

"And you can still call me John. Whenever someone calls me Captain I feel like I should be doing something soldiery, or possibly be getting reprimanded for something un-soldiery." The man said with yet another quick grin.

Glancing at his consultant, Lestrade realised he was watching them both with a horrified look on his face. Exchanging glances with John, who looked resigned rather than confused, Lestrade tilted his head questioningly at the detective. "What was that?" the man asked. "Captain Watson, Oh you can call me John," the man imitated them mockingly. "Didn't we already suffer through this hateful social ritual once?"

John simply rolled his eyes at the man, "It's the overruling English politeness, drilled into most of us since birth Sherlock. Do we really have to have this conversation every time we're introduced to someone?"

"But what purpose does it have?" the consultant whined as he led them to the exit. "You could have just introduced yourselves by your first names since they are clearly what you want to be addressed by, but no. You insist on going through the whole process of tediously whittling down your titles to your actual desired name."

"Says the man who goes through the 'tedious processes' of both titles and check kissing whenever his mother happens to be present, I was there for our engagement party love." John admonished his husband cheerfully.

Sherlock remained silent as they exited the building. Seeing this John turned to Lestrade and raised his hands theatrically into the air "point Watson" he mouthed, causing the Inspector to laugh.

With his supernatural cab powers, Sherlock had already found and got into a cab that was idling next to the curb. John reached the door first but gestured for Lestrade to get in before him as he removed his backpack.

Lestrade held up his hands and backed away a little, "No its okay mate. I 'recon I should leave you two alone; let you get reacquainted an all."

To Lestrade's surprise, John threw his head back and laughed. "As close as you two may be now, I'm betting the reason you're here is that my return has interrupted a case. If I let you go Sherlock and I will get to be reacquainted for a whole three hours. Then, Sherlock will drag me out of the flat at three am to follow one lead or another. It'll be better for all of us to get this case solved tonight, trust me." John spoke fondly, with the confidence of a man who had experienced things like this before.

Caught unawares by this statement, Lestrade hardly noticed as he was ushered into the back of the cab. Lost in his thoughts he missed most of the journey back to Baker Street; how an earth had Sherlock found someone so excepting of his quirks, someone who seemed fond of them even?


	6. Wolf in sheep's clothing

**I'm so sorry this update was so long coming. I couldn't help fiddling with it - something which i can't really afford on time-limited computers. If all goes well i should have a laptop again soon, although exam season is coming up so my time is limited. **

**As always thank-you for your follows and the kind requests for more in your reviews.**

**Please point out any mistakes you see, i have no doubt missed a couple at the very least, when i finally get a new laptop I'll eventually get around to fixing them ... probably. **

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><p><em>Caught unawares by this statement, Lestrade hardly noticed as he was ushered into the back of the cab. Lost in his thoughts he missed most of the journey back to Baker Street; how an earth had Sherlock found someone so excepting of his quirks, someone who seemed fond of them even? <em>

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><p>Back in 221B Lestrade watched the soldier smile softly at his home. "I suppose it's too much to hope you have milk or any type of food in the kitchen?" The man asked his husband.<p>

Sherlock's guilty look, and the way he refused to meet the soldiers gaze seemed to be enough of an answer for John. "Right then, I suppose I should go see Mrs Hudson anyway. I'll see if I can beg something off of her whilst I'm there."

After watching the blond descend the staircase, Lestrade turned to Sherlock who had taken the time to sit at one end of the sofa. "I may have known him for all of an hour, but unless he turns out to be an axe murderer I'll admit you've done well for yourself."

Sherlock's only answer was a smug smile as Lestrade moved to sit into what he had come to think of as 'his 221b armchair'. "I'm not sure why that surprises me; you perfect anything you try your hand at after all."

"You must have never seen Sherlock try to knit Greg." John said with a laugh coming back into the room to sit next to his husband. "That was an exercise in frustration, for Mrs H and 'Lock anyway, I found the whole thing hilarious personally."

Sherlock pouted even as he moved his arm around John's shoulder "I thought you went to see Mrs Hudson." He remarked as attempted to surreptitiously pull his partner closer.

"I did but as soon as I told her we had company she chased me back out the door again," he said amused. "I'm not sure whether she's worried to leave you alone with guests, or if she just sensed an excuse to come up here and mother us."

Sherlock snorted, "Both most likely."

Both of the men grinned when they heard the familiar sound of Mrs Hudson ascending the staircase towards them. "Too eee," she announced herself, placing a full tea service on the coffee table before them. "I thought you may like some tea as you work boys." She said with a smile.

"You are a star Mrs Hudson." John grinned, reaching forward to prepare a cup.

Slapping his shoulder playfully, Mrs Hudson giggled "oh John, it's good to have you back dear."

"It's good to be back Mrs H," he replied, handing her the tea he had prepared before making more to pass around the group.

Sitting back Lestrade sipped his tea watching as Mrs Hudson fussed over John and Sherlock, surprised when she threw the occasional comment his way. Looking the two men over, Lestrade couldn't help but feel a bit off balance by how comfortable this all was. Before today he had never really been able to picture Sherlock with anyone. Sherlock cared for John that much had become obvious, but when it came to the aloof man kissing and cuddling, Lestrade just hadn't been able to picture it. Now that John was here, pressed up against the man's side nothing seemed more natural. They were comfortable with each other, to the extent that Lestrade was sure he had never seen Sherlock so relaxed.

Placing his cup back on the tray, Lestrade leaned forward and furrowed his brow. "Not that this isn't-" his gaze flickered over the couple "cosy, but aren't we supposed to be finding a killer, so you two can celebrate your reunion?"

Lazily turning his head towards him Sherlock replied. "To do that, we first need the necessary files to find our link. Until we have them there is little to do but catch up and drink tea." He said looking vaguely disgusted at the thought.

"Oh Sherlock, you can make that face all you like, we all know you're as pleased as punch." Mrs Hudson cooed, standing to ruffle the man's hair.

As she straightened, the room's inhabitants heard the front door open and close as even footsteps began to ascend the staircase. The footsteps quickly revealed themselves to belong to the elder Holmes brother as he knocked on the door with his umbrella.

"Oh, brother dear what an unexpected surprise," Sherlock drawled.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed in greeting. "I believe you are waiting on some files," he said, moving aside as several men walked past him to deposit boxes on the desk.

Once the men were done Mycroft inclined his head to the room, "it's good to see you back with us John," he said as he turned to leave.

"Mycroft!" John called out before the man could reach the stairs. "I'm sure you're busy but I'd like a chance to get Sherlock to myself tonight, and despite what he says even Sherlock knows two Holmes' are better than one."

"John!" Sherlock whined. Turning to him John leaned forward to whisper in the man's ear. Sherlock's eyes widened before his face scrunched up in distaste. Huffing the man inclined his head to John, smoothing out his features as he turned to raise an eyebrow at his brother.

Taking their interaction in, Mycroft's gaze lingered on Sherlock's blank but not malicious face, before he nodded his head slightly in assent and moved to take a seat in what Lestrade assumed was John's normal armchair. "I can spare a few hours" Mycroft admitted.

"Good you three get started then. I'm going to go take a quick shower." John said, gently freeing himself from under Sherlock's arm, causing the other man to moan unhappily. "Solve the case love, and then we'll have no distractions." John spoke quietly, dropping a kiss onto Sherlock's forehead before exiting the room.

In the time it took John to shower, the Holmes brother's had found their link and had progressed to mapping out, or as far as Lestrade could tell argue over, possible hideouts for their suspect. A feat that was highly impressive seeing as John took all of ten minutes to shower, especially considering the fact that the DI and Sherlock had been looking for that link all afternoon back at the Yard.

Lestrade had yet to contribute much to the renewed effort, and had found himself distracted by the elder Holmes brother. The man had removed his suit jacket and rolled up the arms of his shirt, sporting a distinctly ruffled look as he ran his hands through his hair, seemingly becoming frustrated as he bickered with his brother. Since his first meeting with Sherlock Lestrade had had a few encounters with his 'archenemy', and he had never seen the man in anything less than a full three piece suit, with every detail of his appearance groomed to perfection. He had never seen the man so relaxed; he'd be willing to bet few people ever had. Coupled with this thought the man's slightly dishevelled appearance was creating a reaction in Lestrade that he had never expected to have for a Holmes.

"He doesn't let many people see this side of him." A voice remarked quietly from his left.

Jumping in surprise, Lestrade glanced over to see that John had returned to the room, doing a double take when he realised the man's fatigues had been replaced with what looked like a home-knitted jumper. In uniform the man had exuded a feeling of authority, not danger exactly but a sense that he knew what he was doing and wasn't afraid to order you to do it. That feeling had been somewhat subdued by the knitwear, Lestrade could still sense it was there, but it had been mellowed out and covered over with a feeling Lestrade associated with safety and security. Processing this Lestrade finally registered that John had spoken to him, "Sherlock?" he questioned confusedly turning to look the man in the face.

With a soft smile John shook his head slightly "Both of them," he said turning his head to watch the brother's work. "I've opened up Sherlock a little but Mycroft still has trouble letting his barriers down for anyone. I've always thought the way past them was through Sherlock though. If you can gain the respect of the youngest Holmes, the eldest can't help but like you, be completely and utterly suspicious of you sure, but like you all the same."

Lestrade just looked at the man blankly, wondering why he was telling him this.

Interpreting his expression correctly John smiled. "I'm telling you this detective inspector because the Holmes brothers don't let many people past their defences. You are one of the few they have. Your reward will be to feel insignificant, unwanted and to constantly wonder if it is all worth it. This is my pre-emptive strike against that thought. They may be utter dickheads sometimes, but they are brilliant," he said jerking his head to indicate the map of London the brothers had pinned to the wall. When Lestrade glanced over he could see the increasing amounts of red, indicating areas of London they had already eliminated as possible hiding spots. "You have to remember that no matter how closed off they seem, they are comfortable showing more sides of themselves to you than almost anyone else in their lives."

Lestrade looked up at the man surprised and oddly touched. John reached forward and patted his shoulder "ok I think that's my poetical side used up for the evening Sherlock will be pleased. If- when it gets too hectic feel free to call me for a pint or send me a letter, yeah. I need all of the allies I can get." John winked as he wandered off to look over the case files with the Holmes'.

Watching Sherlock squeeze John's hand as he began to energetically fill him in on the case, Lestrade felt oddly fond of the genius and his ridiculously accepting soldier husband. He hadn't known the detective for eight months, yet he had come to feel protective of the younger man, it was nice to finally see him in a group that accepted him for who he is.

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><p><strong>Note to self, when uploading fanfiction in a public library don't get distracted and read a quick fic, you'll only end up in the awkward position of trying to explain what's so funny to the grandmotherly woman sat next to you ... <strong>


	7. Save us the court case

**So its been awhile, turns out deciding what to do with your life, discovering that involves going to a somewhat picky university and then working your ass off to get there and stay there is kinda time consuming. The good news is I havn't forgotten this story over the years so i have a half decent back log to upload in the coming weeks.**

**All i can say is holy crap at the amount of fav's, follows and reviews this little story of mine has gained over the years, thank you all so much!**

**I'm afraid my grammar really hasn't gotten any better so please point out any mistakes. **

**I'm really not very fond of this chap, but i really like some of the ones coming up so i hope you'll stay with me to see them.**

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><p><em>SOS<em>

Lestrade blinked down at his phone, wondering if Sherlock had got himself into trouble and nicked someone else's phone again, no doubt expecting Lestrade to come rushing in on the basis of one text alone. Before he could decide what to do his phone chimed announcing another text.

_Seriously I love the consulting bastard but one or both of us will end up dead if I don't get some air soon._

Running the words through his mind Lestrade grinned and allowed himself to relax.

_John? - GL_

_You'll back me up if I say his murder was my only defence right? – JW_

Lestrade chuckled, together the Holmes brothers had managed to find their culprit in one night without ever leaving 221B. Walking into work the next day, Lestrade had readied himself for a painstaking number of raids at the suspects various hideouts. Upon entering his office however, he was greeted by the elder Holmes brother, who handed him one handcuffed suspect and two signed statements from both himself and Sherlock, detailing their insights into the case.

That was two weeks ago and Lestrade hadn't heard from the Holmes family since. Assuming his detective was spending time with his husband, he hadn't gone looking.

_Mate, I think any of the Yard's officers would back you up on that one. – GL_

_Good to know, I think. Recon I can save us the court case though. Pints? – JW_

Lestrade grinned, he liked what he had seen of the man so far and god help him wasn't he curious to find out what sort of person captured the heart of Sherlock Holmes.

_When and Where? – GL_

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><p>A couple of hours later Lestrade found himself laughing heartily over a pint with the other man, "he didn't?"<p>

John nodded rapidly across from him giggling into his drink. "He did, the Colonel had passed out and he just walked up and snipped it off."

"Did he find out?" Lestrade asked curiously still chuckling.

"The next day he wakes up and he is furious, calls all of us together and walks down the ranks eyeballing all of the men, it was only when he got to the Lieutenant we realised he was wearing the damn thing on his face. He'd glued it on." John stated breathlessly shaking his head. "Staring the man down, wearing his own moustache."

Both men lapsed into laughter until John faltered and looked into his drink.

"He sounds like a funny man to have around," Lestrade stated cautiously.

"He was," John nodded. Catching the DI's questioning expression, John looked back into his drink, "his truck hit an IED not long after we were first deployed to Afghanistan. Survival rates aren't exactly great now that we've got specially designed vehicles for the job, back then -" John trailed off meaningfully.

Lestrade swallowed not sure what to say, "I'm sorry, mate."

John raised his eyes to the DI's and nodded in recognition, "we all think about it, you know, what could happen if we're next, how our loved ones will cope without us. I've never really had to wonder; if I die, I'm fairly certain Sherlock will kill himself or turn to drugs, maybe both. He was close to the second when we met, I know that much."

"Really?" Lestrade raised his eyebrows genuinely surprised at that information.

"We've never really talked about it, but it's there between the lines. I think he was holding out until Uni, hoping he'd find someone who appreciated his mind instead of mocking him for it. He didn't have much luck till he met me. Now, he's as dependent on me as any drug. That's why I'm glad he met you, if this tour goes wrong he might not resort to suicide knowing he has a friend, not sure what pressure that puts on you and as his husband I'm not sure I care. However, it still only seems right to warn you that you may not like what you find, should worse come to worse." John spoke seriously.

"I-" Lestrade began, until his mind turned over the other man's words. Abruptly cutting himself off the DI allowed his facial expression to harden, "he's my friend, I don't care how ugly things may get I'll drag his poncey ass through it if I have to. Something had better not happen though or I'll be forced to reanimate your corpse so I can beat the crap out of you for hurting my friend," the DI spoke with certainty, sure of both his own motives and what he believed the other man needed.

The army doctor quirked a wry grin at the detective "Good" he stated. John paused taking a sip of his pint, "so has Sherlock ever told you how we met, the full story with all of the gory details?"

Shaking his head, to save himself from speaking, the Detective allowed himself a moment to register what had just happened. As far as he could tell, John had just emotionally manipulated him to gain an insight into his loyalties. This kind of behaviour probably should have at the very least irked the Inspector, but he had been dealing with Sherlock for near enough a year now, and as far as he could tell John's actions were a result of the genuine feeling's the man held for his husband. Given the situation Greg felt he could let one teeny weeny incident pass.

The rest of the night passed with laughter and alcohol, something that Greg blearily remembered when he woke up. The one thing he did remember clearly was the overflowing relief in the army doctor's eyes, when the DI confirmed his friendship with his consultant.

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><p><strong>Kudos to anyone who got the reference, which i hope was smoothly worked in :)<strong>

**A final big thanks to my dearest friends, who won't let me forget this story under pain of death. See you all next chapter!**


	8. Dinner and Conspiracy

**Thankyou so much for the warm welcome back :)  
><strong>

**This is by far the longest chapter i have uploaded, which seems to be the way with the newer things i have been writing, i hope that no one is too upset with the extra length especially since i'm particularly fond of this one. **

**What do you think of my Mycroft by the way? the wordy bastard really challenged my vocabulary :)**

**As always please point out my grammatical mistakes so i can fix the damn things, happy reading! **

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><p>Lestrade sighed at the mountain of paperwork before him; realistically he knew it was two hours after he was supposed to have left for the night. Then again, he also knew that he would only have to tackle the mound tomorrow, and being frank what reason did he actually have to leave. An empty shoe box sized flat that he found after finally gaining the courage to leave his wife, something for which he owed Sherlock greatly. Not as Donavon claims because of his continuous helpful, in his mind, comments about his wife's fidelity or lack thereof, but because of his relationship with John. After all John was absent for months at a time, despite this Sherlock remained faithful and more importantly loving and passionate towards his spouse. Sure Lestrade had seen the strain this produced, Sherlock had shared a handful of stories, and he'd caught the normally stoic man crying into a jumper for Christ's sake. There was anger there, a certain amount of bitterness, but it was shared, directed towards the situation and well-conditioned with understanding and love, neither placed blame or resentment on the other. Their relationship was the exact opposite of the one he shared with his ex. It was also the exact type of relationship he wanted. The divorce was unpleasant, but he hasn't regretted it for even a moment since. That didn't mean that he didn't feel the loneliness sometimes.<p>

Picking up his coffee cup, Lestrade stood up; caffeine was a necessity if he wanted to get anything done tonight. Running on autopilot Lestrade trudged past the other officers working the late shift. It took the DI four sips of his refreshed drink to realise someone was watching him. He slowly inched his gaze up, relaxing when his eyes met Sherlock's form braced in the door frame. Turning around to face the other man Lestrade leant back against the counter top behind him.

"Sherlock," he greeted calmly, "what brings you to the Yard's break room, this fine evening" He added sarcastically, faintly hearing the rain that had been falling in London for what felt like a month.

"Dinner," the form spoke.

"Dinner?" Lestrade asked incredulously, setting his mug down. "Did John chuck you out or something?" He asked suspiciously, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes in an attempt to see past the shadows obscuring his consultants face.

"What? No," The man exclaimed sounding confused. "What are you waffling on about Lestrade?" The consultant demanded walking into the room, affording the DI a look at his bewildered expression. "Oh never mind," the man spoke waving a hand dismissively at the Inspector "we're running late already." Spinning around his consultant left the room as quickly as he had entered it, clearly expecting Lestrade to follow.

"Wait, Sherlock! Where are we going?" Lestrade shouted after the man, who was already disappearing up the corridor outside the break room.

"Dinner. Honestly Lestrade, do try to keep up." Sherlock shouted over his shoulder.

Rolling his eyes, Lestrade never the less started off at a quick pace in order to catch up to the detective, following the man back to his own office. Once there Sherlock glanced up at the clock pointedly, holding out the DI's coat for him to take "Hurry up Lestrade!" the man exclaimed irritably.

Walking past them, Sergeant Donovan glared at Sherlock "What are you doing Sir?" the woman interrupted a little shrilly. "You don't have the late shift, go home, don't let the freak drag you off to follow a made up evidence trail for some imaginary case. He probably just gets off on having you follow him around, hiding behind your badge whilst he-"

"Sergeant Donavon!" Lestrade cut her off sharply, emphasising her lower rank. "Not that it's any business of yours but Sherlock and me are about to grab something to eat. Keep your unsolicited and frankly insulting thoughts to yourself, got it? Mr Holmes is my consultant and I have had enough of the continuous name calling and hair pulling going on between you two. You are an officer of the law not a thirteen year old girl. Am I understood?" the DI demanded.

"Y-Yes Sir" Donovan responded shakily, clearly shocked.

Dipping his head in acknowledgment, Lestrade carelessly waved a hand at her in dismissal "Get back to work then." He said gruffly already turning back to Sherlock.

Sherlock was strangely quiet as he ushered the DI out of Scotland Yard and into the back of a cab, speaking only to give his address to the cabbie. Relaxing back into his seat, the consultant looked out of the window with what Lestrade had come to recognise as his 'contemplation' expression. At least Lestrade could be fairly sure that John hadn't kicked the man out, unless Sherlock had picked him up so he could mediate between the two. God he hoped Sherlock hadn't picked him up to mediate.

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><p>Sherlock still hadn't elected to say anything by the time they got to 221B, but he wasn't slinking up the stairs like a man in the doghouse, so there was that at least. Inside the flat, Lestrade looked around noting the changes from his last visit; most significantly a great reduction in the amount of clutter and mess taking up space. Before he could get a chance to look at the photo's he had never realised were placed on the mantelpiece, Lestrade became aware of a mouth-watering smell permeating the flat. Almost helplessly following the smell back to its source, Lestrade walked through the living room to the kitchen, freezing in surprise at what he saw there.<p>

If he thought the flat's living room had been de-cluttered it was nothing compared to the transformation that had occurred in the kitchen. For the first time since Sherlock had moved into 221B, Lestrade could not see a single experiment taking up space on the dining table or kitchen surfaces. Standing in front of the hob, where Lestrade presumed the delightful smell was originating, John appeared to be in his own world an earphone wire trailing from his ears to his pocket. Glancing to the right Lestrade was aware of Sherlock moving to his side, gaze directed at his partner. "What's he listening too?" Lestrade asked slightly surprised, having originally assumed John to be a man who was continuously aware of his environment and who was in it. His not noticing their arrival seemed a bit strange to the DI.

"Language tapes," Sherlock smiled softly at his partner "Linguistics is something of a hobby of his. He says you can't truly understand a person until you speak the same language as them." With a small shrug Sherlock expanded, "he's working on the more technical terms for medical procedures in Pashto and Dari, so he can better communicate with his Afghani patients," the prideful expression decorating the man's face whole heartedly negating the dismissive way he talked about his partners accomplishments.

Before Lestrade could inquire any further the man in question turned slightly and finally noticed them staring at him.

John smiled at them even as he glanced warily between them, removing his earphones. "Did I accidently get changed into a pink tutu or something?" The man randomly asked.

Glancing at Sherlock in confusion, Lestrade looked back at the man bemusedly "Um, no?"

"Then why are you both staring at me? I know Sherlock likes to forget that food actually has to be cooked, but you're not old enough to be astounded to see a man in a kitchen Greg," John teased them both.

Lestrade grinned in understanding "but I am astounded John, I've never actually seen something remotely edible that wasn't tea, in this room before." Lestrade laughed realising the truth in his words as he said them. With this in mind the DI was shocked when he realised that Sherlock was stealthily sneaking around the edge of the kitchen, attempting to spoon some of the contents of John's pan into his mouth.

With a short bark of laughter John rolled his eyes "why doesn't that surprise me?" he asked drily, turning to take Sherlock's spoon and steal the bite of food for himself. Ignoring his partners pout, John confiscated the spoon, and handed the man some plates instead.

Heaving a put upon sigh, Sherlock moved to set the table. "Drink, Greg?" John inquired politely, pulling a bottle of red out of the fridge.

"Uh, sure," Lestrade replied, noting that Sherlock had laid enough places for five at the table. "Um, what exactly am I doing here?" Lestrade asked the more personable member of the two, hoping to get a more detailed answer than 'dinner'.

John looked slightly baffled for a second before his expression cleared as he handed over Lestrade's wine. "What did Sherlock tell you?" the man asked a little wearily.

"Dinner. That was about it really. " Lestrade replied promptly, grinning slightly when John rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

"Whenever I have leave, Sherlock and I spend the last night alone together, the night before that, we have dinner. It's usually just us Mycroft and Mrs H. We wanted you along this year. Of course Sherlock was supposed to explain this and invite you over, rather than abduct and drag you here without prior warning." John raised his voice, projecting it towards the bedroom door Sherlock had disappeared through.

"It's not like he has anywhere better to be, John. He was still at the yard. I saved him from the tedious piles of paperwork, heaped on his desk." The detective yelled back.

"Oh, you're right, that makes it better." John replied tone as dry as a desert.

Seating himself at the table, Greg grinned sipping at his drink as he enjoyed the good natured, if exasperated banter.

"I knew you would see it my way!" Sherlock, shouted back gleefully.

Before, John could mount an appropriately sarcastic reply; he was interrupted by the arrival of both Mrs Hudson and Mycroft, who the landlady had assumedly let in.

Upon seeing the Detective Inspector the civil servant blinked in surprise for a second, before schooling his face into his more customary expressionless façade.

"Mycroft, stop with the politician face, or you don't get seconds, and I won't leave you with a plate of leftovers. I want displays of emotion tonight, please." John admonished the man casually as he turned to check on the food.

Lestrade gaped in amazement at the casual reprimand, and then watched in frank astonishment as the most powerful man he had ever met ducked his head guiltily, a small flush adorning his features. "Apologies," the man responded fairly meekly "force of habit."

Somewhere, Lestrade's focused gaze transformed from looking at the man incredulously after his uncharacteristic capitulation, to daydreams involving the man, his rather charming blush and what exactly it would take to get it to appear. The DI was pulled out of his mind when he realised the man he was daydreaming about, was talking to him. Shaking himself out of it, Lestrade felt his own face grow warm. "I'm sorry, what was that?" Lestrade asked apologetically, "I was in my own little world, there."

"No matter," the politician responded, seating himself genteelly at the table, across from the DI. "I was simply, greeting you Detective Inspector."

"Greg," Lestrade responded automatically. "If we're going to go by job titles all evening I wouldn't be able to talk to you all night. I'd be here for like a day just trying to list all of the things you do."

"What an over active imagination you have Gregory." Mycroft silkily responded. "You would only need half a day at most," the man continued quirking a half grin at the inspector.

Greg's glass stopped halfway to his mouth as he paused, "Mycroft Holmes, if I didn't know any better I would say that you just told a joke."

"It is fortuitous that you do know better then, I couldn't let you live with the wrong impression after all." The politician responded another wry smile quirking his lips.

With a small startled chuckle, Greg grinned at the other man. Intelligence the size of a small town's combined IQ, a frankly beautiful arse, and wit. Let it not be said that Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was unable to tell when he was screwed. He was well aware, he just wasn't sure if he cared.

Leaning forward over the table, Lestrade faced the man intending to draw him into a proper conversation. Naturally before the DI could land on a topic, he was interrupted by John shooing Mrs Hudson away from his side, calling Sherlock back into the room as he began to dish up the tantalizing smelling food he had been making.

Distracted for the moment, Lestrade turned to the rest of the table, clocking the anticipation written over everyone else's faces. As soon as a plate was placed in front of him Sherlock fell on it like a starving man, across from him the usually prim and proper Mrs Hudson brushed the boarders of propriety as she started eating a scant twenty seconds after her plate was placed in front of her. Even Mycroft had his cutlery in hand before he had received his serving.

Busy watching the other occupants of the table, Lestrade didn't notice that he had been given his own portion and was being observed in turn, at least until John spoke up.

"You're not a vegetarian are you Greg? I assumed Sherlock had asked you. Looking back, that was my first mistake." John asked; humour masking a touch of concern.

Lestrade suddenly found the gaze of every person in the room directed solely at him. "No I'm not. I'm just wondering what I'm getting myself into."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lestrade saw that both Holmes' had frozen at his statement, faces going unnaturally, forcibly, blank. Lifting a spoonful of his food in the air, Lestrade eyed it suspiciously. "I've been trying to quit smoking since I started, over thirty years ago. Should I call vice before I get another addiction?" Greg questioned, keeping his eyes squarely on John, but taking note of the way both Holmes' noticeably relaxed.

With a huff of laugher, John grinned at the Inspector, "I doubt you're going to get addicted to my cooking Greg."

Greg hummed disbelievingly, "It has the British government, the best baker I have ever met, and that stubborn, food avoiding, consultant of mine in thrall," he gestured around the table as he spoke. "I think you are running a food dependent conspiracy, Dr Watson. Taking over the world plate by plate," Greg aimed a cheeky grin at his host.

"If John were launching a conspiracy, why would he be after you?" Sherlock asked from Greg's side, sounding genuinely bewildered, causing John's face to scrunch up beside him.

Greg nudged Sherlock playfully, before anyone else could take him too seriously. "Sshhh, I don't want him to realise that before I get to try it," he said self-deprecatingly.

"Regardless, Gregory you're a fine police officer, who would be extremely useful in any," Mycroft paused, "food dependent conspiracy," he spoke, raising his eyebrow at the terminology.

Across the table from his brother, Sherlock snorted condescendingly. "Of course he's marginally competent for an officer; I would never work with him if he wasn't. However, if John's got you under his thumb why on earth would he need Lestrade?"

"Never underestimate the importance of multiple moles little brother. An agent in Scotland Yard will be more than useful in any conspiracy." Mycroft reprimanded, looking superiorly down the table at his brother.

"Of course a mole or preferably multiple moles at the Yard would be useful Mycroft, but not Lestrade," Sherlock, waved his arm dismissively. Looking past the man, Lestrade saw that the rest of the table's occupants were watching the debate with borderline indulgent, amused expressions. He was also amused to watch Mrs H taking the time to eat more of her food, seemingly engrossed in the free entertainment the brothers were providing. "He's too noble for the grit needed in a true conspiracy. You want the morally corrupt, bureaucratically minded desk jockeys for a real coup anyway; the kind of people who pull strings and get in the way of somewhat productive officers like Lestrade."

"True, brother dear," Mycroft inclined his head. "You shouldn't underestimate the value of those lower down in the ranks, however. Information will oftentimes filter thought the masses, before reaching the ears of those in command."

Sharing a grin with John as the brothers, perhaps worryingly, debated the best way to infiltrate London's police force; Greg finally turned his attention to his food. Shovelling his spoonful into his mouth, Greg quite shamelessly groaned in appreciation, eyes widening in surprise. For the second time that night all activity around the table froze as attention was once again focused on the Inspector.

Ignoring the attention, Greg brought another spoonful to his mouth. "Oh my God," he moaned once he had swallowed it, savouring the taste before meeting the others eyes. Noting Mycroft's newly flushed face and slightly agape expression, with an inner smirk.

John laughed his expression distinctly smug as Lestrade forgo conversation in favour of tucking into his food with gusto. Next to his partner Sherlock was watching his husband, pride in the other man's skill permeating every inch of his body. "Leave room for desert Lestrade," the man smirked as the DI's head immediately jerked up, almost against his control.

"Desert? The man questioned zeroing in on John's features.

"Homemade banoffee pie," the man supplied with a sly smile.

Closing his eyes as if in prayer, Lestrade mumbled "Conspiracy, this is definitely a conspiracy,"


	9. Kidnapping etiquette

**Its good to be back, thankyou all for the support :)  
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**Please point out the grammar errors as always **

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><p>Full to bursting, Lestrade found himself relaxing into the back of 221B's sofa, beer in hand, wedged between Mycroft and the arm rest. John, being the only one who had not stuffed himself silly, had managed to claim his armchair before anyone else, depositing Sherlock in his own chair as he did so. Worryingly, Lestrade had caught him sharing a frankly conspiratorial look with Mrs H when she sat on the sofa nearest him, taking up much more space than such a slight woman should. About half of the seat was left for him and Mycroft, unless they wanted to drag in one of the hard wooden kitchen chairs.<p>

Only vaguely paying attention to the freely flowing conversation around him, Lestrade was only pulled out of his warm haze when he heard his name brought into the discussion. Glancing around to gauge the others expressions, Lestrade raised his eyebrows enquiringly, "sorry?"

"I'm just trying to convince these two loons that accepting money from people who kidnap you off the street is not a logical or smart decision." John smiled lazily at the DI.

"Who would kidnap someone to offer them money?" Greg asked confused. Beside him Mycroft shifted in his seat, clearing his throat gently. "Really?" Greg asked the man incredulously.

"They accompanied me quite willingly I assure you," Mycroft assured, ignoring John's snort of disbelief. "Regardless I have always found my techniques to be most successful in the past. Your reaction being the exception of course Dr- John," he corrected himself smoothly in the face of John's glare.

"You're telling me that people you've kidnapped have actually accepted your money?" Greg asked sceptically.

"Of course," Mycroft blinked looking vaguely baffled, "everyone has a price Gregory."

Sharing a look of disbelief and mild amusement with John, Lestrade switched his attention to Sherlock who had elected to join the conversation.

"A smart individual would take the money to supply their own finances, whilst establishing a link with the kidnapper to spread misinformation and learn information in return. Besides even an idiot could tell that someone like Mycroft would get what they want one way or another. The most mutually beneficial arrangement would be for them to accept the money and gain from the situation as well," Sherlock contributed mater-of-factly.

After sharing another look with Greg, John rolled his eyes. "A smart person wouldn't take anything, or commit to anything from someone who kidnapped them love," he corrected.

Nodding, Greg pitched in "don't commit anything and get out as fast as possible," he agrees with the Doctor. "Wait a minute," Greg spoke as what had been said finally registered with him, "are you seriously saying that you kidnapped John?" he continued turning to Mycroft disbelievingly.

Beside him Mycroft cocked an eyebrow superiorly, "at the time John had been associating with my brother for a little over a month. It was high time that we finally met."

Across from them John snorted unbelievingly again.

"Yes its common practice to meet your siblings friends in dark abandoned buildings after having your lackeys threaten said friend into accompanying them." Sherlock rolled his eyes sarcasm saturating his tone.

"Don't forget that he never actually introduced himself, other than as your 'archenemy' of course," John chimed in cheerfully.

"Elder brothers don't normally offer their sibling's friend's money to spy on their comings and goings either." Sherlock finished their train of thought.

"That brother dear is only because most elder siblings do not possess the means to do so, and of those that do, none are blessed with siblings quite like you. Most of your associates warrant government supervision, regardless of your personal affiliation. Those meetings are an effective way for me to kill two birds with one stone as the colloquialism goes." Mycroft explained rationally, in his mind at least.

Accidently catching John's eye, Lestrade lapsed into disbelieving giggles, the doctor's higher pitched laughter following suit.

"That's a pitiful excuse to spy on my life Mycroft. If certain older brothers got a life of their own maybe they wouldn't have to get their kicks by spying on mine." Sherlock spoke snidely, earning a slightly reproving look from his husband.

Catching Mycroft's indrawn breath, Lestrade interrupted before a full blown argument could start. "Wait so you kidnapped John after a month and all I got was a short introduction at a crime scene. I'm vaguely hurt," Lestrade pouted at the man beside him.

Glancing around, Lestrade tensed as everyone else turned to regard Mycroft with varying degrees of amusement and shock. John was smirking so much, Lestrade was sure the bastards face would be aching tomorrow. Meanwhile the focus of their gaze had frozen in his seat next to him.

"What?" Lestrade asked genuinely, confused.

"My brother always abducts the people affiliated with me," Sherlock informs Greg disdainfully. "He's already introduced himself to half of your team."

Lestrade turned his head to slowly to look the other man in the eye, "now I don't know whether to be hurt or concerned."

"I simply hypothesised that meeting with you in this manner would end as unsatisfactorily as my encounter with John, and thus utilised different methods to make your acquaintance Gregory," Mycroft replied silkily.

"Right," Greg said blankly, "what the hell did you do John?" Greg exclaimed turning to look at the man.

"Refused his bribe, figured out he was 'Locks brother and walked out on him mid-sentence." John summarised, quirking a grin at the DI, "messed with his self-image a bit, I recon."

"You walked out in the middle of your own kidnapping?" Greg asked. Laughing despite himself, Greg had to put his beer on the coffee table to avoid spilling it.

Across from him John shrugged modestly, "I was 21, hung over and had an exam in three hours what's a kidnapping in the middle of that?"

Whilst he had begun to expect it, Lestrade still glanced around looking for an ally in the face of such ridiculous statements. Naturally the only response he found was Mrs Hudson's indulgent expression. Meanwhile, Sherlock's expression was frankly prideful as he looked at his nonchalant husband.

"Never the less, it would be polite to wait until the end John," Mycroft sniffed disdainfully.

"I'm afraid that politeness doesn't really apply to kidnappings dear." Mrs Hudson patted Mycroft's arm motherly, prompting Mycroft to give the women a slightly bewildered side eyed look.

Greg looked at the group through a haze of surreality, what an unusual group of people he had become ingratiated with. Kidnapper's, their kidnappees, the reason the kidnapping occurred and the normal looking grandmotherly woman who comforted said kidnapper over their ineffective techniques. Thinking about it, he should probably be more concerned; especially since various members of his team had apparently been abducted without his ever knowing about it.


	10. A child's pastime

**Accidentally fell asleep instead of uploading this yesterday Ooops :). **

**As i said right back at the start i really love the stories where Sherlock and John know each other pre-A study in Pink and everyone freaks out meating John this story was added to a community a while back which has a lot of those types of stories in it, should you love them like me the community is at community/Johnlock-before-Afghanistan/113345/ **

**I feel like the theme of childhood games has come up a lot in Sherlock, and i rather like that idea so here we are. **

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><p>When Lestrade emerged from 221B's bathroom, he blinked as he took in the new positions of the men left within the flat's living room. Mrs Hudson had left sometime between Greg's first and second beer, extracting a promise from John that he would say goodbye properly before leaving the day after tomorrow.<p>

The remaining four had lapsed further into the realms of the relaxed, friendly and tipsy. Still, things had apparently changed during his short bathroom break. Both of the Holmes brothers had now relocated to positions on the floor, Sherlock lent back against John's legs who was still sat in his armchair. Mycroft was braced against the couch; for the moment however the man was bent over something Lestrade couldn't see from his position in the room's doorway.

Greg attempted to gain eye contact with either John or Sherlock but both were too focused on whatever was on the floor to have even noticed his entrance, let alone answer his non-verbal questions.

Shrugging internally, Greg advanced into the room, "never thought-"

Mycroft's muscles tensed reflexively, and Greg jumped as a shrill buzzer rang out from the ground. "Oh bugger," Mycroft enounced from his seated position on the carpet.

Leaning to the side, Lestrade was finally able to see what held everyone so captivated. Greg blinked again "never thought I'd see Mycroft Holmes sat on the ground swearing and playing operation," he finished his earlier statement.

Rocking his head back towards Greg, John grinned jovially up at the DI. "Don't underestimate how far they'll go to indulge their sibling rivalry. Challenge them for the win Greg?"

"Wouldn't you be better at that then me?" Greg wondered eyebrow raised.

"NO!" Both Holmes brothers exclaimed, earnestly enough that Greg froze on his way to sit on the sofa behind Mycroft.

"What?" Greg asked slightly alarmed.

Without removing his gaze from the board, where he was trying to retrieve the funny bone, Sherlock explained, "John's banned."

"What seriously?" Greg questioned, looking at John who just rolled his eyes in answer.

"He has unrivalled training and experience which weighs the game explicitly in his favour." Mycroft chimed in, although he too didn't move his eyes from the game.

Greg shared a crafty grin with John as he settled onto the sofa. "So translation, John kicks both of your arses at operation so you don't let him play anymore."

Neither Holmes deigned to look up to acknowledge his comment but John winked at him over their heads. Greg did manage to divert one of the brother's attention somewhat when his leg accidently brushed against Mycroft's back. The DI was pleased to note, that despite the sudden tension that shot through the man's body, the politician made no move to pull away from the contact.

Distracted, Greg missed it as Sherlock successfully removed his puzzle piece. He did hear Sherlock's celebratory shout, and turned to see John's subsequent squeeze of congratulations to the man's shoulder. The one thing he definitely caught was the smug smirk Sherlock sent at his brother.

The game progressed fairly quickly, both of the Holmes brothers wasting no time in obtaining the game pieces; John squeezing Sherlock's shoulder for every successfully captured 'body part'. For some time the game advanced without mistakes from either sibling. Inevitably one of them had to slip up, and soon Sherlock was glaring at the board as the wishbone slipped from his grasp.

This prompted John to bend down and press a kiss to the man's head, whispering something in Sherlock's ear as he withdrew. Immediately tension Greg hadn't realised was present visibly leaked out of Sherlock's body, as he refocused on the game.

Say what you will about the Holmes brothers, they both had a flair for the dramatic; a flair that extended to childhood pastimes apparently. By the end of the game, the siblings were practically drawing even, and Greg had been thoroughly pulled into the game, on Mycroft's side as much as John was on Sherlock's.

The final Objective was the dreaded rubber band challenge. If Mycroft could re-attach it first go he would be the victor. The atmosphere was tenser than any child's game should rightfully produce. Inwardly chuckling, Greg realised he was sat on the edge of his seat, as Mycroft stretched the rubber band around the two points. Greg legitimately jumped in surprise as the elastic slipped from Mycroft's control, snapping his hand back, setting the buzzer blaring. The DI was not the only one to flinch at the sudden loud sound, both of the Holmes' also started. Only John appeared unaffected. Privately Greg began constructing a new theory where John was a ninja, SAS or MI6, possibly all three. There was no other way a man could remain as cool and collected in the face of the Holmes' antics.

"Well fuck," Mycroft deadpanned, the crass words rolling surprisingly naturally off of the posh man's tongue.

Flashing Mycroft a smirk for his language, Greg almost missed John leaning forward to lightly squeeze his husband's shoulders. Watching the couple from the corner of his eye, Greg saw John's head tip forward as he whispered into Sherlock's ear. Whatever John said caused the consultants lips to quirk in what Greg had now determined to be a Sherlock patented half grin. An equally fond half grin appeared on Greg's own lips as the doctor pressed a light kiss to Sherlock's temple, prompting the other man to sway into him slightly.

Leaning forward once more Sherlock took the tweezers from his brother, before slowly attempting to succeed where the other man had failed. Several tense moments later Sherlock had successfully installed the rubber band in place. Carefully withdrawing the tweezers, Sherlock immediately turned a smug grin on his brother. "Too much like legwork, brother mine?" he questioned with a smirk, "you never did have the nerve for it."

"At least I did not win the game by but a sliver of my teeth despite making it a point to train my fine motor skills from a young age," Mycroft rebuffed pompously.

Over Sherlock's head John rolled his eyes at the brother's behaviour. "Not that it matter's," he said, neatly cutting over Sherlock who had opened his mouth, presumably about to let loose a sharp retort of his own "because I would have kicked both your arses." John quickly stalled any replies to that statement by looping his arms around Sherlock's chest and pulling him back into the space between his legs. "Congratulations on your win though love," he smiled, using one hand to turn the man's head and press a kiss to his lips.

Although John had clearly meant for the kiss to be fairly chaste, Sherlock snuck a hand up into his partner's hair and used it to keep him in the slightly awkward backwards kiss. Given that John didn't attempt to pull away, Greg figured he was not adverse to his husband's actions. Allowing the couple their moment, Greg looked away meeting Mycroft's eyes as he too averted his gaze, a slight smile on both faces as a result of the couples behaviour.

Greg figured Mycroft and he would leave the lovers to their activities at this point. To Greg's surprise however, when the two eventually separated nobody made a move to leave. Another game was started, and another after that. Much to Greg's amusement some required Sherlock to intercede, a long suffering look on his face, and manhandle his spouse into a hug for John himself had become too involved in the games.

When Greg did eventually leave it was with a drunken hug from John, a vaguely tipsy smile from Sherlock and a most treasured box of leftovers; containing no less than two slices of the famed banoffee pie.

Climbing a little unsteadily into Mycroft's car Lestrade was happier than he could remember being for many months. He found himself pleasantly suffused with warmth that he had seemingly been accepted into this unique little family. Before he could relax into his seat fully however, the memory of why this night had come about floated back into his head as John's words from the pub came back to him. The happy wave receded somewhat an expression of horror, no doubt, overtaking his face. Across from him Mycroft met his gaze with a mutual look of grim understanding. What would become of this unique family if something happened to John?


	11. John'sss go'e

**Happy it's friday and i remembered to update day!**

**This little story of mine passed 300 followers this week, i can only hope to convey how flabbergasted i am by the amount of support and interest you all have shown in these meandering and somewhat randomly updated ramblings of mine. Thank You! **

**Specifically to this chap i had a moment where i thought, i may have portrayed Lestrade wrong, or at least in a way that i didn't like at the time, i asked my friend and the only thing she questioned was his calling Sherlock sunshine. Personally i love any and all fanfiction where Lestrade calls Sherlock this when he is down on his luck/sick etc. I wonder how many of you agree?**

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><p>Lestrade jerked awake at the loud bangs echoing around his flat, blinking blearily over at his clock he groaned. Who the hell would be hammering on his door at two o'bloody clock in the morning?<p>

Rubbing his eyes, Lestrade stumbled through his flat, struggling to shake of the lingering haze of sleep. Peering tiredly through his peephole Lestrade abruptly felt more awake as he caught sight of a familiar black coat weaving unsteadily back and forth in front of his door.

Jerking the door open, in mixed concern and annoyance, Lestrade had to brace his consultant with one hand as the man fell forward in surprise. "Sherlock?" the Inspector questioned confused.

"Lesssstrae," the other man slurred, slipping slightly from the DI's bracing hand until he was awkwardly slumped against Greg's door frame, forehead pressed to the wall.

Watching the other man, his behaviour finally clicked for the sleep fogged DI as the distinct smell of pub registered in his brain. "Sherlock are you drunk?" he asked the other man incredulously.

Sherlock's head rolled sloppily to the side eyes searching for some time before they seemingly registered Lestrade. "Juss' a li'le," the man asserted straightening himself imperiously, flinging a hand up at the same time, to show Lestrade a small gap between his index finger and thumb, nearly unbalancing himself completely in the process.

Shooting out his hand to help steady the already unstable man, Lestrade studied the thoroughly glazed look in Sherlock's eyes. "Okay sunshine, come on," he spoke to Sherlock slipping his arm around the man's waist. Feeling Sherlock's arm move around his shoulders, Lestrade allowed the man to lean some of his weight on him as he slowly led them towards the sofa.

The plastered detective began dragging his feet as they got further into the room becoming a heavier burden on Lestrade's shoulders. Fortunately, at least for his back, Lestrade's post-divorce flat was so small the journey was quick even if he had to practically carry Sherlock the last few steps.

After essentially dropping Sherlock on the couch, Lestrade made his way to the kitchen and retrieved a glass of water for his consultant, grabbing a bucket on the way out just in case. Placing the bucket within easy reach of the sofa, Lestrade looked at his consultant who had slumped to his side in an uncomfortable looking position over the sofa's arm. "Sherlock, do you think you can drink this for me?" he asked the man, keeping his voice low but firm.

Drunkenly Sherlock shook his head, with his face pressed against the arm rest; Greg couldn't help but think that the man looked rather like a puppy trying to itch its head. "Come on sunshine, I know you're tired, but you'll feel better after some water."

To his surprise Sherlock tilted his head enough to eye the DI, before reaching out a hand for the glass. Using the proffered hand to pull the other man slightly more vertical, ignoring his disgruntled noises, Greg handed him the glass. Satisfied his consultant wasn't about to choke, Lestrade left him with his water and went to retrieve a pillow and blanket for the man to sleep with.

When he returned moments later, the now empty glass had been placed on the coffee table and Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa head resting back on the arm rest. Padding softly into the room, Lestrade inched around the sofa figuring the man was already sleeping. Shaking out the blanket, Lestrade placed it over the detective, tucking it around his shoulders, making sure it covered the lanky man's feet. Placing the pillow on the closest armchair, Lestrade retrieved the bucket and positioned it within easy reach to the man's head.

Grabbing the glass, Lestrade went to refill it picking up some Paracetamol as he went, certain Sherlock would need both come morning. Shuffling back into the room Lestrade yawned as he set the items back on his coffee table. Turning to go back to his room, Lestrade jumped a mile, clutching his heart in surprise. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth Lestrade took a steadying breath.

After a moment Lestrade opened his eyes to meet the gaze of the man he had previously believed to be sleeping. "Jesus Christ Sherlock," Lestrade exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a small groan.

Glancing at the man who uncharacteristically had yet to say a word, or crack a smile at the DI's misfortune, Lestrade perched on the edge of his coffee table facing his consultant. "What's wrong sunshine? You're not usually much of a drinker; you certainly don't get yourself into this kind of state."

"Johhn'sss gon'," the man slurred. "He's s'not ssafe, thers gunns an' bom's an' my John'ss there," the man mumbled drunkenly.

Reaching back to grab the pillow, Lestrade passed it to his consultant. Rather than placing it under his head, Sherlock pulled the pillow to his chest under the blankets. Shifting forward, Lestrade re-adjusted the blanket over his consultant's prone form pulling it up to his neck with a sigh. It occurred to the DI that it was much too late for this conversation, and that only one of them were drunk enough. Hesitantly reaching a hand up, Lestrade brushed Sherlock's curls off of his face, buying himself some more time.

"I'm sorry he's gone sunshine. He is in a dangerous place, but your John, he's a very capable guy, he holds his own against you after all. You have to trust that he'll do all he can to bring himself back to you, okay, John'll do the rest." Lestrade tried his best to reassure the forlorn looking detective.

Sherlock's face screwed up as his drunken brain tried to compute the DI's words, before he nodded slowly. "Ok, try to get some sleep sunshine I promise everything will look better in the morning, yeah."

Seeing that the man's eyes were drooping, Lestrade smiled sadly and stood. Softly touching his friends head as he passed by, Lestrade finally got to clamber back into bed.

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><p>Lestrade tottered through work the next day feeling rather like a zombie. When his alarm had woken him for work, his sofa was already deserted. If it weren't for the blanket folded up at the foot of it, and the glass on the draining board, Lestrade might have thought last night was nothing other than a particularly vivid dream.<p>

Coming back from his third coffee break of the day, Lestrade almost missed the small pile of items that had been placed on top of his paper work laden desk. Glancing around the office, Lestrade didn't see anyone but the usual suspects, all of whom currently looked pre-occupied with their own work.

Picking up one of the items, which he now recognised was a warrant card; Lestrade flipped it open to see his own credentials displayed in front of him. Grinning, the DI gathered up all of his previously mysteriously 'missing' badges and placed them in his desk drawer. With fond amusement, Lestrade couldn't help but think that this was the best thank you he had ever gotten.


	12. A letter for Lestrade

**I missed another Friday oops sorry guys, i was traveling back home from Uni to see the family yesterday and couldn't find the time. **

**With that being said this is going to be my last week off before exam time, so i'm not sure what will happen to uploads in the next couple of months or so. **

**Thank you for all of your reviews, I keep meaning to reply to each individually but i also keep uploading really late and end up falling asleep instead, each and every one makes me ridiculously happy though, so seriously thank you all so much.**

**This and the next chap was something of an exercise in descriptive writing for me, something i have never excelled at so if its a little hard to follow its something new i'm working on please have mercy!**

**This will be the last and final unexpected skill of John's that i like to add in (I think :)).**

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><p>Trudging up the steps to 221B, Lestrade wondered what had prompted Sherlock to invite him over. Greg hadn't seen neither hide nor hair of him since the man had appeared drunk at his doorstep almost two weeks ago. Greg had gone to visit the man several times in the week directly after John shipped out. 221B had been deserted each time he turned up despite the random times he knocked on the door, sometimes damn near the middle of the night.<p>

Greg would have preferred to keep trying to reach the man into the second week, but he'd been directed to co-ordinate on a case with officers stationed in the rural outskirts of London. Travelling in and out of London every day, let alone traipsing around the waterlogged countryside searching for evidence and suspects, was exhausting. When he did make it back to the city, he only had energy enough to fall into bed before restarting the process the next morning.

Still, given that the elder Holmes allowed him to be removed from the city or perhaps even ordered it, Greg assumed Sherlock didn't need him. In fact, Greg suspected Sherlock needed the time to collect himself before he dealt with anyone he knew again. Thus, the detective was surprised to receive Sherlock's text summoning him to 221B, almost as soon as his long distance case was concluded.

"Sherlock!" Greg called into the seemingly empty flat. Typical, Sherlock orders him to 221B and then neglects to show up himself. Moving to check the kitchen Greg found the room to be equally deserted. Confused, the DI moved to get a look at the papers littering the kitchen table, hoping a clue to the detective's location may be found amongst them. Unfortunately the papers turned out to be nothing other than a pile of unopened mail.

Pulling out his phone Greg made to send Sherlock a text, when he heard footsteps descending from the upstairs bedroom. Walking back into the living room, Greg ran into Sherlock as the man wandered into the living room. "Lestrade," Sherlock acknowledged seemingly startled, "when did you get here?" the man asked blankly.

"About five minutes ago," Lestrade answered. Taking in the other man's slightly reddened eyes, ruffled hair, and wrinkled suit Lestrade figured something had happened to set the man off kilter. For a second John's warnings about Sherlock flashed through his mind. "Did I wake you up?" Lestrade asked, giving the man an opportunity to explain his unusual lack of awareness.

Sherlock hummed non-committedly, moving past the Inspector to sit in his armchair.

After thirty seconds had passed with Sherlock doing nothing but staring into the middle distance, Greg shuffled on his feet awkwardly. "Er, Sherlock, did you ask me to come over for a reason or?" Greg asked slightly uncomfortably, concern steadily growing at the back of his mind.

Sherlock's eyes snapped to him for a second before he jerked his head towards the kitchen table. Winding through the room's detritus and furniture to get back to the table, Lestrade regarded the papers closer than he had before, curiosity now peaked. Seeing nothing of particular interest other than the unopened mail, Greg reached for the pile. A quick glance at Sherlock showed that the man was once again staring off into the distance. Figuring he was on the right track, Greg spread the mail across the table.

At first Greg was unsure of what exactly he was looking for then he saw the hand written envelope addressed to him despite the address below it being Sherlock's. Confused, Greg picked up the envelope only then noticing the Royal Army stamp placed on the right hand corner of the letter. Curiosity doubled, Greg pulled out one of the wooden kitchen chairs and sat before opening the letter.

Pulling out the envelopes contents wonderingly, Greg looked over the four folded pieces of paper he found inside. Extracting the one lined piece that had 'Greg' printed simply on the outside, the Detective placed the others aside for now, unfolding the letter Greg was met with a page full of the most weirdly orderly untidy writing he had seen in his life.

_Greg,_

_I've been feeling guilty about leaving you to fend for yourself against the two loons. Not enough that I'm not laughing at your misfortune, you understand. But, enough that I figured I'd check you aren't dead, hopefully you're also not drugged, hospitalised or institutionalised (God knows I've thought about admitting myself more than once). If you're none of those things and still mostly sober you've exceeded all expectations and won my respect._

_With that in mind, if either of them starts giving you trouble, tell them I will tell 'mummy' all about the events of Halloween 2008. If that doesn't work tell Mycroft I know his secret and won't hesitate to expose it, and tell Sherlock I won't make him fajitas ever again. If that doesn't contain them, nothing will (Should that happen, you'll lose no respect if you turn to drink I'll understand completely). _

_So how are you anyway?_

_Have you found out how many of your people Mycroft has 'met' yet?_

_Have you had any interesting cases or are you and Sherlock going stir crazy?_

_So I lied, this letter has nothing to do with guilt. It's actually all about me. We can't exactly watch all of the rugby here, and the tossers I work with can't be trusted to relay honest information about something so sacred. I __NEED__ a detailed play by play of every game Greg it's the six nations for Christ Sake, you can't not tell me. _

_I'm begging you here._

_Sherlock tried once, but I really don't care about the affair the Welsh ref is having with the Irish linesman. Ok I take it back, I laughed my ass off for a solid minute (Apparently the Scottish linesman caught them at it during half time). Still it would have been nice if the consulting idiot mentioned the score even once._

_I'm counting on you here._

_This may surprise you but travelling and settling back into the army can be boring. The Holmes' human moments can be their best, but they are unfortunately rare, I figure you might want a reminder of them as much as me. So I tried to record a couple of them to bring you joy, since I was only stuck with boredom anyway._

_Seriously I need a good rugby source,_

_John Watson._

_P.S. Mycroft's birthday is May 12__th__. Can you try to make sure Sherlock pay's attention to the part where I told him to get his brother a gift and act civil for the day?_

_P.P.S I don't actually expect Sherlock to get Mycroft a gift, but tell him he has to and he might just act civil as a compromise. _

Greg felt a smile overtake his features as he read through the letter. Now he realised he'd made a mistake not plumbing John for all the blackmail he could, when he could. Halloween 2008, the curiosity is going to kill him. He appreciated that John had thought of him; they had only met a sum total of three times after all. Greg also couldn't help but be amused at the idea of Sherlock watching a game of rugby. The idea that he'd sit through it for his spouse was heart-warming though, and showed that John wasn't the only one willing to sacrifice for his partner.

Filing away Mycroft's birthday for future reference, Greg folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope. Picking up one of the other pieces of paper, Greg unfolded the page blinking in surprise at the drawing he found inside.

Grinning, Greg flipped open the other pages, finding that similar scenes had been depicted on each. John had sketched several of the more memorable scenes from his goodbye dinner on each page; including depictions of Mycroft's various indignant and confused expressions, when the two of them had explained why his kidnapping techniques were ineffective, those artfully framed a comic strip showing Greg exactly how a much younger John had proved them right.

Although they were not very detailed and cartoonish, Greg could see the skill that went into them. The likeness was impeccable and John had managed to capture the emotions expressed at each occasion perfectly.

Greg was especially fond of the one illustrating his own win at Cluedo, Sherlock's I'm-seconds-away-from-a-strop-a-two-year-old-would-be-proud-of expression the centrepiece of that drawing. Folding up the rest of the pages except that one; Greg placed the images back in their envelope before tucking it into his inside coat pocket gently.

Walking back into the living room Greg sat on the sofa close to Sherlock, the man showing no reaction to his movement, still staring off into space. "John can draw?" he asked the man, consciously softening his voice in an effort not to startle him.

Sherlock's head swung around rapidly, a gesture not unusual for the man, but the glazed look in the man's eyes made Lestrade think he had startled him despite all efforts to the contrary. Blinking blankly for a second Sherlock's eyes focused on the drawing Greg was showing him. "John sent you drawings," he stated a little blankly.

"Yeah," Greg agreed, deciding not to comment on his consultant's unusual behaviour. "I didn't know he drew?"

Sherlock looked at him coolly for a second, although Greg still had the impression his attention was mostly elsewhere, before he suddenly shot up. His friend left the room, his footsteps telling Greg the man had disappeared up the stairs to the smallish box room at the top of them. Greg could hear the distinct sounds of someone shifting things around above him, before Sherlock re-appeared in the doorway holding two sketchbooks in his hands.

Pausing for a second in the doorway, Sherlock took a second before sitting next to the DI who had yet to move. Sherlock passed him the first slightly newer looking pad. Opening the book, Greg first laid eyes on the beautiful scene drawn within. From the looks of it, John had painstakingly drawn a park in meticulous accuracy. This picture had clearly been drawn in autumn but if he ignored the leaves pilled everywhere, Greg realised with a start, that the park looked very familiar.

Leafing through the book carefully, Greg came across various other landscapes, the odd anatomical sketch, drawings of animals, Sherlock's skull and various people Greg had never met. With a low whistle, Greg's eyes grew slightly rounder the longer he paged through the book, "he's good, talented, these are very detailed," Greg spoke softly.

"It's a hobby he's had since childhood; he managed to keep it up because he found it easier to learn anatomy whilst drawing it," Sherlock informed him.

When he had skimmed through the entire sketchbook, Greg closed it and placed it on the coffee table, realising something was definitely different about the second book. Sherlock was holding it close to himself and seemed strangely reluctant to hand it over. Taking the book reverently as Sherlock's behaviour warned him too, Greg settled it gently in his lap before opening it.

The first page featured an image of Sherlock; something Greg now realised was missing from the other book. In the picture Sherlock was clearly much younger. Greg was no artist, but to him it appeared that whilst the drawing was still technically accurate and breathtakingly detailed, the style seemed a bit unfinished compared to the more recent images he had seen. It didn't look bad, just that the artist who had drawn the later pictures had evolved and developed their style since this drawing was made.

Paging through this book slower than he had the previous one, Greg found more anatomical drawings and many more images of the man sitting beside him. One of the last pictures in the book made him pause. The image was nothing but a head shot of Sherlock, no one else and no other skin on show, the man was even wearing a scarf in the picture. Yet this was still one of the most intimate images he had ever seen.

Greg was not a man of many words; he couldn't tell you why the image was so intimate. Picture Sherlock's eyes weren't lidded; he didn't look breathless, aroused or sensual in any measurable way. In fact he had been drawn with his usual impenetrable expression, although to Greg's eyes it looked slightly softer than was exactly normal for the detective. No it wasn't the image displayed exactly, so much as the way it had been drawn. It wasn't something you could really place your finger on, but the image radiated feeling.

Love, respect, awe, Greg could detect all of it in this one image.

Greg now understood Sherlock's hesitation. He could read John's love in these works of art, as undoubtedly could Sherlock. No wonder Sherlock had treated the pad as if it were something precious and dear to him. Were he in Sherlock's place Greg would have done the same. It was rather humbling, Greg reflected, to willingly be handed something so obviously integral and precious to a man's soul. Sherlock didn't have to show him the second book after all; hell he didn't have to show Greg anything at all.

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><p><strong>John would be very happy to hear that England not only won the six nations this year, but that we got the grand slam (meaning we beat every other damn team), I'm still happy and this happened a couple of weeks ago now! :)<strong>


	13. A letter for Lestrade mark 2

**Happy Update day everyone. **

**Unfortunately this is the last chap i can guarantee will be uploaded with regularity, exam fun will be messing up my writing process and upload schedule from this point on. That being said, i will try not to leave you all on any BIG cliff hangers for too long if i can help it because that personally drives me insane. **

**This is the last of my exercise in descriptive writing for awhile, but i hope i gave a bit of life to John's drawings with my little attempts these past two chaps. **

**As always thanks for the follows, reviews and favourites! :) Your continued support is always uplifting. **

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><p>Ever since Sherlock had shown him some of John's old artwork Greg had made it a point to see the man at least once every few days. Sherlock had not acknowledged the visits; he also hadn't done anything to dissuade them, so Greg figured he was okay with the unspoken arrangement.<p>

Greg was pleasantly surprised to find that John continued to write him small letters as well as sending the occasional sketch or cartoon. In return Greg dutifully followed the rugby, at great personal cost of course, to provide John with the sacred information he requested. Despite the days and times of Greg's visits being relatively random on account of his somewhat unpredictable schedule, Sherlock somehow always managed to have his letter placed within plain sight on 221B's coffee table, should he have received one since his last visit.

Not bothering to knock, Greg walked into 221B, immediately spying the letter resting on top of Sherlock's typically chaotic pile of paperwork. Since Sherlock didn't appear to be around Greg settled himself on the sofa, scooping up the envelope ready to read his most recent letter.

Opening the envelope Greg realised it contained the standard letter and several pages of what experience had taught him was pieces of John's artwork. Opening the letter first, Greg scanned it, smiling at John's comments on their latest case and their now customary rugby banter slash rage vent. In short the letter was exactly what he expected at least until he neared the end.

_So, two different little birdies told me that your birthday is August 6__th__. I'm hoping this letter will get to you in time, but years of experience with the army and her mail system tells me that I'm probably hoping in vein. If we did get lucky, Happy Birthday Greg! There's not exactly much opportunity for shopping here so I tried to draw a few things for you instead. Enjoy your birthday old man._

_-John _

Greg's eyes widened in surprise it didn't take a genius to figure out who the 'little birdies' were. He knew the Holmes', particularly Sherlock, had come to like him that much was clear. Frankly however, he had never expected the Holmes' to care about his birthday. Not because they didn't care about him exactly, but because they themselves just didn't seem that concerned with birthdays in general.

Rather chuffed at the thought Greg tucked the letter into his inside jacket pocket. Sorting through the other pages, Greg selected one at random and began opening his birthday presents.

Opening the first page Greg found an exquisitely drawn landscape. Mountains bordered the far right hand side of the drawing with a valley filling the most of the rest of the page. The sun was setting behind the mountain face, bathing parts of the valley and sky in a warm orange hue, whilst also allowing for the creation of dark and dramatic looking shadows at the mountain base. In the foreground John had also painstakingly drawn two soldiers, presumably his brothers at arms, who were watching the sunset from the vantage point of their own considerably smaller hill.

Greg found the image to be quite beautiful, not just because of the quality, but because of the breath of life he had given to the otherwise washed out, and presumably war torn landscape. Touched John would go to so much effort for his birthday gift Greg placed the image carefully away with the letter before selecting another of the remaining two pages.

Opening his second page, Greg immediately recognised John's more cartoony style. Quickly, Greg realised the page featured a small comic strip. At the top of the small strip, Mycroft and Sherlock appear to be kidnapped by an unidentified shadowy figure. In the second square, the brothers were displayed smiling blithely as they accept a wad of money from their kidnapper. The third simply depicted the two brothers with linked hands leisurely skipping towards a mall. Greg snorted as he saw the forth square, which showed the brothers trying on some, interesting, articles of clothing. Sherlock appeared to be choosing between two equally garish dresses whereas Mycroft was admiring himself in an equally garish, half undone, tacky 'Hawaiian' shirt.

Greg would deny needing a moment to collect his thoughts after the images that particular detail conjured in his mind. He was fully grown man, not a hair triggered teenage freaking boy after all.

The final scene showed Sherlock in a pink floral monstrosity a tiara resting precariously on his curls, with Mycroft in the same garb as before with only the small addition of a crown atop of his head. The brothers were casually handing over the wad of money they had gotten from their kidnappers, to pay for their new outfits. To the back of the image a small window displayed a silhouette of London which appeared to be going up in flames.

The comic strip was amusing enough, but the best part for Greg was the images framing the strip. A cartoon John was literally face-palming to the left of the Holmes brothers and their impromptu shopping spree. To the right, a cartoon version of himself was looking on the scene incredulously. An expression he feared he wore often around the Holmes brothers. He wondered how many years it would take for him to get from his own disbelief to John's brand of resignation in the face of the brothers antics. Tucking the image away with the other pages, Greg retrieved his final present.

Unfolding his last gift, Greg's eyes widened in surprise as he saw what had been rendered inside. John had drawn him realistically, a headshot like the one that had made Greg pause when he was paging through John's old sketchbooks all those months ago.

Like that image, Greg's own portrait conveyed a message although he would be equally unable to tell you how or why. Instead of intimacy and love, this picture conveyed sentiments of strength, admiration and respect. Greg didn't know how long he sat there staring at his gift. What he did know was that various feelings of doubt, insecurity and general unhappiness, that had been born when he discovered his ex-wife's cheating or couldn't solve a case, were diminishing. Rationally Greg knew he wasn't a failure, but to see that someone else saw him like this in such a tangible fashion; it helped calm more of his lingering internal demons than he was honestly aware he possessed.

Handling the drawing, which had already became one of his most treasured possessions, reverently Greg tucked it in with the other works of art safely pressed against his chest. Clearing his throat, slightly worried that it may have grown hoarse, Greg finally looked up to see if his consultant was studying his reaction from somewhere in the room. Almost immediately Greg's thoughts were answered as he heard 221B's front door slam, followed by the sounds of his friend bounding up the stairs.

Utilising that long stride of his, Sherlock soon materialised in the doorway a largish cardboard box held in his hands. Spotting Lestrade on the sofa, his friend dumped the box on his lap, before swanning off in the direction of his room. Glancing down Greg realised the box was missing a lid. That fact allowed him to see the case file, make that case file's resting inside. Flipping open the top folder, Greg realised that this was the official police report for a cold case he had personally handled years ago; a case file which should not have found its way out of the yard.

"Sherlock!" he yelled, "Why do you have this?" Rooting through the box glancing at the titles of each file, Greg realised that each and every one was a cold case he had worked. The one notable exception was buried at the bottom of the box. That file contained a case he had been on when he was only a constable, the inspector running the scene had supposedly caught the Perp, but the 'facts' had never quite lined up for Greg.

"I solved them," Sherlock shouted back, "Isn't that the point, Inspector?"

Returning to the top file, Greg skimmed through the documents inside. At the back of the folder, Greg came across a sheaf of notes penned for the most part in his consultant's familiar scrawl. There were also small sections written in a much neater elegant hand, which Greg pondered over for a second. That thought was quickly overtaken as he realised what it was exactly that he held.

"Sherlock where did you get these?" he asked shakily. "Please tell me you didn't break into the Yard's highly monitored, off limits file room?"

"As if that could stop me," Sherlock said dismissively as he walked into his kitchen. "Relax Lestrade, Mycroft gave them to me," the man said waving a hand airily from his newfound position sat behind his microscope at the kitchen table.

"Mycroft gave them to you?" The inspector repeated blankly. Perhaps that explained the presence of the mysterious neater handwriting interloping in on Sherlock's notes.

From the kitchen Sherlock sighed no doubt thinking he considered this conversation to be a waste of his precious intellect, "he shoved the box in my arms, told me to get out of his office and stop complaining that I was bored."

"So, Mycroft Holmes just happens to have copies of almost every single case that still keeps me up at night, in his office. Cases which he then gave to you, because you were bored," Greg questioned sceptically.

"Do you need me to say it slower," Sherlock asked derogatory tone clearly indicating he was re-evaluating Greg's intelligence.

Looking at the pile of previously unsolvable cases, Greg thought of the nights these particular mystery's had left him unable to sleep, cursing at his inability to solve them. Putting the files back into the box, Greg placed it on the coffee table softly touching a hand to where the letter was still pressed to his chest. "Thank you Sherlock," he said sincerely, just once breaking all English rules of sentimentality, allowing the other detective to hear the emotion suffusing his tone.

As expected Sherlock did not reply, but Greg thought he saw the consultants mouth quirk up in a pleased grin, before his face evened out again.

"Chinese?" he suggested a suitable amount of time later. Taking the grunt he received as a yes, Greg ordered food and settled in to enjoy a quiet night with his somewhat eccentric friend.

Later when Greg had returned home, pleasantly full, he opened John's letter one more time before placing it with the others he had received from the man. Preparing for bed, Greg wondered how he was going to go about re-opening all of these old cases come morning; he also set about planning where he was going to place his new artwork. As his mind wound down in preparation for sleep, Greg wondered at their luck, for despite John's misgivings his letter had arrived exactly on time for his birthday.


End file.
